


Sleeping Angel

by Mizmak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, Short & Sweet, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22637167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak
Summary: Aziraphale asks Crowley's advice on how to take up the human habit of sleeping -- and Crowley is happy to oblige.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 132





	Sleeping Angel

Aziraphale didn’t need to sleep, and had rarely tried it, even though he had adopted so many other human ways – eating, drinking, reading – simply, he always told himself, to _fit in_ – when in truth he thoroughly enjoyed them.

So why had he not indulged in sleep more often?

Mostly because it didn’t provide the same pleasure as other human practices. One lay down on a bed, put one’s head on a pillow, and closed one’s eyes, forced oneself to lose consciousness for a specified time period, and then woke again.

Rather unimpressive activity, all in all.

The trouble was, there was all that time to fill when humans were busy sleeping. He had developed a routine, ever since opening his bookshop, of spending his days tending to his books, while leaving those long night hours for the performing of miracles and blessings. It worked out nicely.

But then he helped avert the apocalypse, which hadn’t gone over well with Heaven, and he found himself out of a job, so to speak.

How was he going to fill those night time hours now?

Aziraphale decided to ask his best friend for advice.

“I just sleep,” Crowley told him as they sat on the bookshop sofa, sharing their second bottle of wine for the evening, “because it’s relaxing.”

“But how can you enjoy an activity that you aren’t even _aware_ of?”

“That’s the whole point, Angel. Takes you completely away from the world for a while.”

“Why would I need to be away from the world? I like the world.”

“Yeah, but not every hour of every minute of every second of every day. Tedious, is what that is.”

“Well, I don’t see the point. The world will still be there when you wake up.”

Crowley shrugged. “Point taken.”

They drank a while in companionable silence. Aziraphale simply did not understand the thing at all. He mulled over it some more, and then asked, “Do you have dreams? Is that the appeal?”

“Er…uh…yeah, sometimes.” 

“Pleasant ones? What are they like?”

Crowley’s brow furrowed and – was that a _flush_ on his cheeks? “Nothing worth talking about. Don’t even remember most of them.”

“Really?”

“ _Yes, really_.” Crowley downed the last of the wine in his glass and reached for the bottle. He filled his glass and then held the bottle out. “More?”

“Please.” Aziraphale held out his glass for the refill. “Thank you.”

That finished off the bottle, their second of the evening. He felt warm and comfortable and entirely relaxed. Who needed sleep?

Yet he did feel the need to somehow fill the long, lonely hours of the night with _something_. But what? “Crowley, my dear, do you have any ideas that will help? I can’t sit here all night, every night, doing nothing.”

“Read another book.”

“I read every day, for _hours_.”

“Listen to music.”

“That, too, and it isn’t exactly _doing_ something.”

“Go out for another meal? Plenty of all-night restaurants around.”

Aziraphale thought about eating meals in the middle of the night without any company. “Would you come with me?”

“Of course not. I would be _sleeping_.”

“Oh. Right. Pity.”

“Movies,” Crowley suggested.

Aziraphale shivered. He’d seen one or two – much too loud and bright and chaotic. “No, thank you.”

“Go for long drives in the countryside.”

_Honestly, now he was being deliberately provoking._ “You know perfectly well that I don’t drive.”

“ _Learn_.” Crowley stood and walked over to the cabinet where Aziraphale kept his wine. He pulled out two more bottles and returned to the sofa. “I’m out of ideas, Angel.”

He filled up his glass again. “Unless you want to try sleeping with someone else. That’s always fun.”

Aziraphale nearly spilled his wine. “ _What?”_

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. I didn’t mean _that_. I meant _sleeping_. As in lying in a bed with another person and just, you know, being there. Together. Close together.”

“You’ve done that?” After all these millennia, his dearest friend could still surprise him.

Crowley shrugged. “Not much. A few times.” He paused. “Well, once or twice.” 

“Really?” Aziraphale raised his eyebrows.

Crowley frowned. “Fine. Only the one time, then, all right?”

Now he had Aziraphale’s curiosity raised. “Who with, may I ask?”

“Leonardo.”

“Da Vinci? Oh. And you were just…sleeping?”

“ _Yes_. Give it a rest, will you?” 

Aziraphale nearly said that was precisely what he was trying to do, but decided against irritating the dear fellow. Instead he focused on helping Crowley kill a third bottle of wine.

After which he felt rather extravagantly uninhibited and more than a little relaxed. He suddenly felt that he wanted to feel closer to his dearest friend, so he shifted over until their knees touched, and their shoulders touched, and then he felt like taking Crowley’s hand in his.

So he did.

He heard a soft growl that somehow slurred into more of a purr. “Angel…what are you doing?”

“Holding your hand, of course.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I wanted to.” He wondered if he should start in on that fourth bottle. 

Crowley sighed. But he didn’t move away, nor shake off the hand. “Are you drunk?”

“I believe I am. Should I sober up?”

“I think you should. Me, too.” 

“Very well.” Aziraphale concentrated on refilling the empty bottles, with Crowley’s aid. As they did so, and as he sobered, he realized how close he was sitting to his friend, and that he was holding his hand. 

“You’re still holding on,” Crowley noted.

He was, and he still liked it, and he wanted this contact. “I suppose I am. Even sober. Do you mind?”

Crowley looked at him, golden eyes shining. “No. I don’t.”

And just like that, a step had been taken that Aziraphale only now realized he had wanted to take for a very long time. 

He wasn’t quite sure what step to take next, though. Crowley gazed at him with a look of deep affection, and there was a wave of love emanating from him. Aziraphale had felt it on many occasions over their long lives together, and had held that knowledge quietly within, hidden away from either prying ethereal or occult forces.

The grandfather clock in the bookshop chose that moment to strike midnight. When it finished, he said softly, “I suppose you’ll want to go back to your flat so you can sleep?”

Crowley looked up at the ceiling. “Don’t you have a bedroom up there?”

Aziraphale suddenly felt nervous little tingling sensations flitting through his body. “Yes…you’re welcome to use it, of course.”

Crowley’s hand tightened in his. “Not alone.”

“But I—“ Why did he hesitate? This was his best, dearest friend. This was _Crowley_ , who happened to love him. “Well, that is – yes, all right.”

Sleeping with someone else – perhaps that _was_ the key to making it enjoyable. 

“Good.” Crowley stood, pulling him up as well. “Lead on.”

Aziraphale didn’t let go his hand until they were upstairs and inside his bedroom. There he finally dropped the hold so he could get undressed. He spent a considerable amount of time carefully removing his clothes and neatly folding them before putting them away. Then he donned a pair of blue satin pyjamas that had seen service once in the past fifty years or so, the last time he’d given sleep an unsuccessful try.

“I had three naps while you were doing that,” Crowley said lazily from the bed, where he’d been lying beneath the covers almost since before Aziraphale had started taking his clothes off. He hadn’t bothered undressing, he had simply used a little demonic miracle to change into something that looked black and silky. 

“ _Some_ of us like to take our time with things.” Aziraphale walked slowly round to his side of the bed and carefully climbed in.

“Don’t I know it.”

“I am ignoring that comment.” He stretched out on his back, legs very straight and close together, arms resting beneath the top sheet, over his chest. 

He flicked off the ceiling light with a snap of the fingers. The curtains were half open, though, and light from a full moon filtered through. “Will this be dark enough?”

“What you do, Angel, is close your eyes. Then it’s dark enough.”

“Ah. Of course.” He closed his eyes. “And then what?”

“Think sleepy thoughts.” Crowley yawned.

Aziraphale had no idea what a sleepy thought might be. He opened his eyes to look at his bedtime companion. Crowley had shifted onto his side, facing him, one arm propping up his head on the pillow. He was just _looking_ at him. “Um…exactly _what_ are these thoughts of yours that are meant to induce slumber?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Crowley smiled. “Waves lapping on a sandy shore. A light breeze rustling autumn leaves. Sheep. That sort of thing.”

Aziraphale frowned. “ _Sheep?”_

“Yeah. You count them.”

This was ridiculous. The dear fellow simply _had_ to be teasing him, surely? “Why in the world am I counting _sheep?”_

“It’s what humans do. You picture a sheep jumping a fence. And then another one. And so on. And you count them until you drift off. You like to do what humans do. Count some sheep.”

“I am not counting imaginary sheep jumping imaginary fences.”

“Fine. Don’t.”

Honestly, he did not understand the appeal of this at all. He cleared his throat. “Are you going to stare at me all night?”

“Maybe. Just close your eyes. You’ll never know.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the first time I’ve been _able_ to stare at you lying beside me in a bed. I’m enjoying it.”

Aziraphale sighed and closed his eyes. “Do stop it, please.”

“Right. Whatever.” 

He heard Crowley shifting about, and he partially opened one eye enough to see his friend settle down on his back, head turned forward, his eyes shut.

And then Aziraphale opened both eyes and found himself staring at Crowley. 

He looked so amazingly peaceful. His breathing seemed to deepen, and his facial muscles softened, and Aziraphale picked up a feeling of utter contentment coming from him.

The longer he gazed, the more he wanted to gaze at the person he held dearest in all the world, and suddenly he understood why Crowley wanted him here beside him. For love, yes. For friendship, naturally. But there was something else, too.

Comfort. The simple, uncomplicated _comforting_ knowledge that you were close – closer than ever before – to the one who mattered more than any other being, and to whom _you_ mattered more than anyone else.

They were together in a _most_ comfortable way. 

And though falling asleep would mean losing consciousness for a time, it didn’t mean losing the sense of _companionship_ in sleep. Even in the darkness, even in his dreams, he would know that Crowley lay next to him, that when he woke, Crowley would be there, offering a silent bond.

“Are you looking at me?” Crowley whispered into the midst of Aziraphale’s musings. He didn’t open his eyes, though.

“I’ve never been able to see you this way,” Aziraphale replied softly. “I didn’t realize – that is, I’m enjoying it.”

He saw Crowley’s lips twitch into a little smile. Then his nearest hand drifted beneath the top sheet until it brushed against Aziraphale’s chest, and against his own hands resting there. “Do whatever you wish, Angel. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope.” Then Crowley withdrew his errant hand. 

What did he wish? Aziraphale felt a light tremor down his spine. He didn’t believe that he wished to sleep – at least, not quite yet. He wished, most of all, to be closer still, already missing that light touch too soon withdrawn.

So he turned onto his side towards Crowley, and he slid his hand across that silky material beneath the sheet, and then he rested his arm over Crowley’s chest, feeling its gentle rise and fall. _Comforting indeed_.

“Angel…” Crowley’s arm came round to lie atop his own. He turned his head, opened his eyes, and looked into Aziraphale’s mere inches away. “You do know that I love you, yes?”

He felt a catch in his throat, and he swallowed. Then he nodded, and said, “Yes. I do know.”

“Well, that’s all right, then.” Crowley lifted his head to place a kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead. He smiled again. “Feeling sleepy yet?”

As if he wanted to lose consciousness _now_. “You are the worst bedmate for _sleeping_ , my dear.” Aziraphale sighed in contentment. He drew his hand up to cradle Crowley’s face, to pull him close, to bring their lips together in a kiss.

He had no way of knowing whether this was anything like a _human_ kiss, but he didn’t care. It felt good to touch their lips together, to come apart briefly before pressing together a little harder, to open his lips more, to dart the tip of his tongue against Crowley’s. It felt warm and soft, and all his senses seemed suddenly heightened. A pleasant tingling shivered through his lips, his hands, and his chest in a stimulating flow that built, as he deepened the kiss, into a cascade of affection before slowly ebbing away as they finally broke apart.

“I love you too,” he whispered. He brushed his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “Though I imagine you’ve rather figured that out by now.”

“Mm-hm.” Crowley darted little kisses along his cheek, and down his neck and throat. “Knew it for some time.” 

“So did I.” Aziraphale embraced him then, and nestled his head against his shoulder. “Far too long.”

He felt Crowley’s hand around him, slowly caressing his back in long, lazy circles. “We could lie here like this every night, if you want.”

“Really?” He certainly didn’t want this closeness to end. “Won’t you fall asleep, though?” 

“Yeah, most likely.”

Not that he’d mind that – so long as Crowley was asleep in his arms. “Sleep here every night, then.” And if he were going to do so, he may as well move in…Aziraphale decided to leave that for another night’s talk. No rush.

Crowley left off his caresses, though he left one arm draped around Aziraphale’s waist. “Solved your problem then, did I?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, I should say you did.” Even if he didn’t sleep himself, he could watch Crowley for many long hours. 

“Good night, then, Angel.” 

“Good night, my dear.” 

To Aziraphale’s surprise, after only an hour of watching Crowley sleep, he felt immensely tired, and after stifling several yawns, he gave in to the slumber that stole over him. He dreamed, and when he woke a few hours later, he remembered what he had dreamt about.

_Sheep_.

Lots and lots of sheep – leaping over lots and lots of fences.

With a sigh, Aziraphale looked at his dearest friend in all the world, his faintly exasperating friend who had put that idiotic image into his head. “Dear Crowley,” he murmured, still nestled against his shoulder. “What have you done to me?”

The night would not end for several more hours yet. He would simply have to stay awake, and he would watch Crowley sleep, and he would look forward to mildly chastising him in the morning.

Aziraphale smiled. Lying in bed in his beloved’s arms was a fine way to spend time – whether awake or in slumber, whether in companionable silence or in drowsy talk, with a simple embrace or an easy kiss or a more fervent touch – all these ways would be his to explore in the endless nights to come.


End file.
